


Marked

by beccastanz, Reylohirrim



Series: Becca’s Canonverse Fics [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Analingus, Bicep humping, Bicep workout, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Dominant Rey, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Bond Sexual Situations (Star Wars), Force Bond Shenanigans, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, No Pregnancy, Porn with Feelings, Post-TLJ, Rim job, Safe to Read if Triggered by Pregnancy, Submissive Ben Solo, Submissive Kylo Ren, The Force, The Force Ships It, biceps n butts, eating ass, only a little bit, renperor eats ass, sleepy butt stuff, that escalated quickly, though she doesn’t exactly know she’s domming, tros what’s tros?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26816761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccastanz/pseuds/beccastanz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reylohirrim/pseuds/Reylohirrim
Summary: He fears the sweetness that comes in sleep, unbidden. His focus should be tracking her down, defeating the resistance, destroying her.Should be.(In which the Force ships it, and Kylo Ren’s bicep finds a new use.)
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Becca’s Canonverse Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958131
Comments: 58
Kudos: 262
Collections: The Sub!Ben Collection





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> One night, Becca and Sadie played a game of “Yes, and” on the timeline after Becca expressed a desire to hump Adam Driver’s bicep. The result was [this thread](https://twitter.com/beccastanz/status/1294428297724649474?s=21), and now, a oneshot! We wrote this together, and it’s Sadie’s first published fic! We hope you enjoy it, and perhaps incorporate more forms of Rey humping Ben in every way imaginable into your own fics!
> 
> Moodboard by [arroways.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arroways/pseuds/arroways)

Sleep is difficult to come by these days, the resistance reduced to nearly nothing in the aftermath of Crait. Sometimes it feels like she goes days without sleep, haunted by the thought that she may miss something, anything that would leave them vulnerable to the force of the First Order. 

That is to say nothing of the bond that haunts her waking hours. The defenselessness of sleep proves too dangerous a burden to bear. They connect in consciousness, a steady thrum of hate clouding what lurks beneath, what they cannot admit. 

But even the last Jedi must rest, and so she is forced into her chambers on this warm night by her worried friends who see the darkness beneath her eyes, the struggle in her steps. But they cannot know the fear of her desire, the visions that cloud her dreams, no longer an ocean, unless one could call the depths of an enemy’s eyes an ocean. 

First, she steps under the cool water of the fresher, scrubbing away the inevitable layers of grime and sweat—then scrubs again in an attempt to purge herself of the thoughts that constantly swirl just under the surface. When her hands skate lower, rough touches unconsciously turn to gentle exploration, just for a moment, before her mind catches up to her movements and she pulls her hand away with a curse. Water is a new luxury, a habit to avoid waste nearly impossible to overcome as she rushes to exit, skin pink and sensitive from her ministrations.

Hair still damp to combat the heat of the night, she curls her naked body protectively around a pillow, a long worn habit from her years of solitude to protect the most vulnerable parts of herself. As if that would help her mind. She drifts into unconsciousness, and visions of want and lust immediately consume her, long ignored aches impossible to stave off in sleep. Her bunk is uncomfortable, the mattress thin, the pillow lumpy—until it is not.

The air around her shifts, and in a haze between rest and wakefulness, the surface beneath her becomes plush and wide, the cushion beneath her head a comforting softness, and something hot and hard rests between her legs, pressed against her core that has begun to dampen and throb. 

————

He hasn’t been sleeping well. He never sleeps well. It used to be nightmares, but now...it’s different. Complicated. Thoughts of the scavenger consume his every waking moment. The scavenger, the scavenger. Just a scavenger, not…

_Rey._

Her name feels like sin personified in his head, his mouth. His dreams haunt him. His waking hours are now the nightmares. A title thrust upon him that he never wanted, forced isolation from everything he might possibly hold dear, and a deep ache for what she has refused him. He fears the sweetness that comes in sleep, unbidden. His focus should be tracking her down, defeating the resistance, destroying her. 

Should be. 

It’s another restless night in his chambers, sleep elusive as he tries and fails to build and strengthen the walls of his mind. Sleep is weakness, and yet without it he cannot keep her out during the day. It’s a vicious cycle, heavy, aching, and he cannot decide if he wants to break it. When his eyes finally close, it feels like the most dangerous mix of serenity and surrender.

He thinks he must be dreaming, then, when fitfullness takes over, and his eyes open to an ethereal sight.

It’s Rey, he knows, since nothing but a Force bond could bypass his security. He also knows because he’s memorized the shape of her ass, perfect, round, and currently an inch from his nose as she slowly grinds her naked cunt against his outstretched arm. 

He can hardly breathe as he comes to his senses and realizes what’s happening. A slow, deep inhale to steady himself backfires completely as the heady scent of her juices hits him, takes him over. He realises absentmindedly that his mouth is open to taste the air, and his cock is already half hard and hungry for her. As he exhales he hears a groggy voice that hardly sounds like himself to his own ears.

_“Rey.”_

Delicious sin.

————

She must be dreaming, surely, because nothing has ever felt as good as this, warm hardness pressed against her cunt, softness enveloping the rest of her besides the thickness centered beneath. She must be dreaming, or at the very least, wishing. _Please, please let me have this._

Then the voice of her dre—the voice of her nightmares whispers her name, and she’s not just going to have it. She’s going to take it.

She doesn’t turn around, just wants to feel before the moment is ruined. She has to grasp at every second of this before it’s gone. She doesn’t even want to think about the person under her and what he might think, what he might feel when confronted with her wanton desire, her dripping pussy pressed against him with an eagerness she will deny to her grave. 

She hides under the curtain of her hair, presses her forehead on cool, silky sheets, and grinds her bare wetness down on his bulging muscle, taking everything this moment can give her, every scrap of sensation. _Gods, he feels good._

Pressing harder, grinding faster, she rocks her hips enough to spread the slippery lips of her pussy, open and engulfing the curve of his muscle. This is what she needs, to feel as much of him as she can along her splayed folds, all the way to her clit. Before she realises it, she’s grabbed his outstretched hand for leverage, lacing their fingers together. This moment, unencumbered by responsibilities or expectations, walls crumbled in the serenity of sleep, vision clouded by lust and connection, she allows herself to take his hand.

————

When her fingers interlace with his, he has to take a breath to steady himself—and avoid coming in his pants right then and there. She’s just so spread all over his arm and his bed, her folded legs straddling his bicep like it’s all she needs, her wetness spreading back and forth as she grinds, little noises escaping that he’s sure she doesn’t know she’s making. He’s feeling wild, greedy, unhinged in a way he hasn’t since the throne room. _Gods, he needs her._

She’s so close, the scent of her, the soft heat of her skin, _fuck_ he can practically taste the small beads of sweat collecting on her back, and _oh_ how he wants to taste. He couldn’t give her the galaxy, but maybe she’ll let him give her this... 

He starts tentatively, afraid that at any second, she will turn around, venom in her eyes, and admonish him for thinking he has any right to touch her. The fear pounds in his veins as he shifts oh so slowly, as if sneaking up on a tentative creature to pounce. He brings one hand to caress her bent leg, a light touch, spanning the crease where her thigh and calf meet. She gives no indication that she feels him, just makes another rock of her hips against his muscle that drives him absolutely wild. He’s playing with fire, he knows, but he welcomes the burn. He has to taste her, know her, even if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

He tightens his grip on her leg as he cranes his neck to lick an errant drop of sweat from her spine. It’s pure salt and warmth, colored by the chemical tang of the ration soap she must have used before climbing into bed.

_His_ bed.

She’s still laying flat, but when his tongue meets her spine, she moves her forehead from the sheets to his forearm, pinning him with her body over his entire arm, her fingers still wrapped in his. She lets out a groan that will stay with him for the rest of his life, a desperate sounding thing that emboldens him to continue his path lower.

He licks again.

She lets out another groan, and he nearly cries with delight when he hears her, so soft it’s like she’s whispered it through the bond rather than the air.

_“Please.”_

Another lick, lower, tongue trailing until he presses a dangerous kiss to the base of her tailbone. Her grinding continues, and his grip on her leg tightens, and she’s pushing back further with every thrust of her hips, chasing his tongue with her ass.

With a shudder, and a deep inhale to forget the tent in his sleep pants, he ventures lower, and lets his tongue trail all the way down, until he can make his first tentative lick against her furled hole, bared and spread from her bent position over his arm.

The noise she makes is all he ever wants to hear, and her taste is intoxicating and right, and he can actually _feel_ her pussy clench against his arm at the newness of the sensation. He immediately wants more of all of it. He’s half expecting her to turn around and swat him away, but a soft shiver runs through her, and surprise thrums through the bond. 

Surprise...and delight.

She’s so wet and has been shifting her hips for so long that her arousal has dripped and spread here, too, over the tight hole of her ass that he is now caressing with his tongue as if savoring a treat. He supposes he is, considering he may never get this chance again. She tastes of earthy honey, heavenly and debauched. He rolls her juices on his tongue, memorising the tang, the musk. He chases every flavor with abandon, licking away the faint trace of soap until it’s purely her. 

He commits every ridge to memory, uncaring that this may be all he gets because it’s _so fucking good._ He’s certain no one has ever been here, that this little hole is all his, and he gains a small thrill at having claim to just a small part of her body. He gets to show her how good she can feel here. He licks, spreading his own wetness against her as she warms and relaxes against his tongue, her hole just barely giving way under his coaxing tenderness.

She’s still grinding down and his neck hurts from following the movements of her hips and his arm is falling asleep but he doesn’t _care,_ because she’s letting him work her open so gently with his lips and tongue and she’s so relaxed and she takes it like she was meant for it, meant for _him,_ because she _is._

She’s shuddering against him now, keening, whining, little puffs of air against his forearm as she moves her head up, bracing herself on her elbows so she can push back further against his eager mouth. She’s so hungry for it, and so is he, and it’s easy to finally work his tongue just past the ring of muscle, feeling it give way for him. He’s tried to keep himself quiet, make himself unassuming, a tool for her pleasure, but he can’t help a small moan into the area between her cheeks as she lets him in, lets him breach her with a part of his body, unexpected to them both, but no less welcome.

He craves it all, her sighs, her freckles, her sweat, her pebbled skin, the mess her pussy is making of his arm. He can feel it drooling down onto him, slicking him for her. He wonders if she knows that she already owns him. 

He wants her to see him, to value him, and if this is how it starts he is more than happy to comply, to let her seek relief with every part of his body at every chance they get, let her ride his arm or his thigh or his face after a tough day, stretching her holes when she needs that bit of extra sensation, building her up and breaking her down night after night until she can’t remember what they’re fighting for if not for each other, if not for the feeling of this in person, one day, when they can finally—

She shifts, sudden, as if she can hear the spiral of his mind as he stretches her furled hole, chasing her desire with every fiber of her being. The movement pulls her ass away from his mouth, and he has to stifle a whine of his own at the loss.

But then.

But _then._

She sits up, taking his hand with her, pressing it to engulf one perfect little breast. She surrounds his arm with both of hers, continuing to use him for leverage as she grinds in this newfound position. She slips and slides against the muscle of his arm, aided by the additional wetness that his mouth left between her cheeks. He can see her, spread, glistening, for _him._

He comes back to himself, if only for a moment, if only to re-erect the walls of his mind to hide the fact that he’s completely getting off on his presence being incidental to her, that he’s being used. He’s _useful_ to her, and for that he’s allowed the feeling of her pussy spasming against his arm. His fierce little scavenger, using him. He grows impossibly harder at her brazenness, at the drip of her arousal, at the fact that she has finally taken his hand.

Fear shoots through him in this moment, as he realizes the precious little strength he has left to control the bond. He’s hiding his thoughts, loosening his grip on their connection. It can’t separate them before he sees her fall apart.

He needs to see her as broken as he feels.

————

“Rey, please, come for me.”

His begging voice is a shock, but not enough to stop the movement of her hips, so close—and then his words register. Face hot with equal parts wantonness and embarrassment, she fights for her last bit of dignity, still refusing to turn around, still clinging to the fantasy that this is just a dream.

“Not—for—you” she stutters, shaking, on the precipice of something devastating. “Ky-Be—I, I need—” she can’t finish, can’t look at him, can’t form a sentence or a name in her desperation.

He understands what she can’t verbalize, he gives her what she needs before she even thinks to ask. She feels his arm tense against her dripping center, raising the ridge of muscle to its most severe curve. He’s flexing, a show of his power and strength, now offered for her to use. The raised bulge hits her clit just right, and a hand brought up to her breast twists her nipple in his fingers, sending her into spasm, finally—

_finally_

—cresting, shaking against his arm. She tightens her grip against his hand like a vice, fingers threaded against her breast, those same fingers that brushed hers in the cave on Ahch-To. She’s crushing his arm beneath her as she comes, and it’s stabilizing, tantalizing, the arm that held his saber, that wielded such power beside her in battle, the arm outstretched that she refused—she marks it, crushes it, and she hopes he’ll be sore and aching and remember what could’ve been, remember her, remember this, remember their shared greed for her release.

————

When she comes, it’s with the sweetest little whine and her whole body trembles. He keeps her anchored, can’t resist a pinch to her nipple in the hopes of heightening her sensation, to remind her, just a bit, that it’s him beneath her. She’s coming apart, and yet he’s the one panting and shaking and he’s so fucking hard but she still hasn’t even _looked_ at him.

Her hand is still in his, he can feel the word _please_ on her lips as it ghosts through the bond, and her essence drools onto his arm. He wants her to stain him, mark him. Mark him _again._

He’s never going to have anything better than this. It emboldens him to push.

He moves his legs until he’s parallel to her, wrapping his body next to her space, barely moving the arm that’s still under her sated pussy. He gently nuzzles his face back into the base of her spine, shifting the hand at her leg to her waist, leaving a squeeze on his path upward.

Her loose hair is just long enough to reach from his flat position on the bed, and he threads his fingers through her slightly damp strands, drifting slowly through them from beneath her. He feels an unfamiliar tightness in his chest when she lets him.

He can only hold out for so long, and he ceases his caress in favor of moving his hand toward her chin, which he can just barely reach to finally, finally tilt her head to meet his eyes. 

“Ben.”

He forgot how good it sounded from her lips, but her accompanying look of shame leaves him crestfallen.

“Rey, I—”

“Is this real?”

He nods shakily, still reeling from the taste of her (which she can probably see, shining on his mouth), her sounds, the heavy hardness between his legs.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he reassures through the endless swirl of emotions, reaching for her again—

But the Force has other plans. 

She disappears before he can touch her, leaving behind his broken heart, his raging erection, and a puddle on his arm. Before he can think too hard about it, he raises the arm to his lips, sucking every bit of her wetness from his flesh as he furiously works his cock, barely a dozen strokes before his release hits.

Panting, shaking, unwound.

————

He wakes with a renewed spirit. His subordinates eye him warily, wondering why the Supreme Leader seems less...terrifying.

They needn’t know his soft spot for the scavenger, or that he’s keeping his mask on so he can replay every moment from the night before without anyone questioning his attention.

His attention is reserved for her now.

And each night, he waits.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> “He’s going to walk around with a pinched nerve in his arm, cramped fingers, and a chafed dick tomorrow but damn if there won't be a pep in his step.” Sadie, August 14th, 2020
> 
> So, new favorite trope? Let us know in the comments or on Twitter!  
> [Becca’s Twitter](https://twitter.com/beccastanz)  
> [Sadie’s Twitter](https://twitter.com/reylohirrim)


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